


Father Figures

by icedteainthebag



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:10:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedteainthebag/pseuds/icedteainthebag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A photo shoot is never just a photo shoot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father Figures

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Baby Pictures](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/3974) by lls_mutant. 



> Written for the 2011 [](http://bsg-remix.livejournal.com/profile)[**bsg_remix**](http://bsg-remix.livejournal.com/) ([original post here](http://bsg-remix.livejournal.com/35233.html)). This is an angsty take on [](http://lls-mutant.livejournal.com/profile)[**lls_mutant**](http://lls-mutant.livejournal.com/)’s brilliantly funny Baby Pictures. Thanks to the author for giving me such a wealth of great material to peruse before selecting this story.

_“So you’re my new officer of the watch.”_

 _His commander’s voice was gruff and he was built like a tank._

 _“Lieutenant Felix Gaeta, sir. Yes, sir.”_

 _“So why are you here?”_

 _“Sir. I’m, uh, I’m here through military extension. I’m studying to get a degree in genetics.”_

 _Felix shriveled inside under his intense, blue-eyed glare._

 _“Why are you really here, Lieutenant Gaeta?”_

 _“Sir?”_

 _“Everybody has a reason for coming here. Some of us are waiting for battles to fight and some of us are already fighting them.”_

***

Roslin had called the Admiral to a meeting on _Colonial One_ in order to discuss her latest campaign to promote the repopulation of the Fleet. Before the attacks, it would have been unusual for the military to have a say in a matter that was deemed entirely civilian. In fact, even after they’d fled, she’d avoided it for quite some time, unable to trust that Adama held a true interest in the well-being of the populace. But the line drawn between these two factions, and her and Bill, had increasingly blurred, even more so since New Caprica.

Things had changed; they’d lost two thousand people in that hellhole. This made her even more passionate about making repopulation seem appealing to those remaining.

It wasn’t a choice anymore. It was a duty.

Bill had arrived on _Colonial One_ , impeccably on time as usual, and had declined a cup of algae-based tea. She settled into her seat with her own mug. A giant of a man, he sat, as always, in the worn upholstered chair in front of her. He was all business today. She’d had a hard time getting used to these formal exchanges again. Another necessity brought on by desperate times.

“I’m looking for a poster boy,” she began. “Two of them, actually. For the in vitro fertilization campaign.”

The in vitro fertilization campaign—yet another attempt to sustain the human race, and it was mind-blowing to her that she was at the helm of something so vital, so essential. She’d found people were reluctant to have babies at a time of such turmoil, when they were living day-to-day with little food and even less hope. There were no ranch-style houses with yards surrounded by picket fences, no swing sets, no parks and no petting zoos. There was nothing to give a child but the hope that they would eventually see a mythical place called _Earth_ , and touch a mythical thing called _ground_ , and build their own houses, and have their own families.

After what everyone had been through on New Caprica, there were few people left who believed that when they passed on, they’d be leaving their children in a better place than where they started.

“The in vitro fertilization campaign,” Bill echoed, in a deep baritone that indicated the thought was resounding in his head as much as in his voice. “New priority on your end?”

“Same issue, with more priority,” she said, sipping from her steaming mug. Its bitterness was familiar. She took a hard swallow. “The people need to understand that we need to repopulate the Fleet in as many ways possible, as quickly as possible. We need donors and we need surrogates. We need families willing to raise these babies.”

“We need families willing to raise the orphans from New Caprica,” Bill said.

How easy it seemed for him to put the terrible impact of this catastrophe into such a simple statement. “Yes,” she said after a pause. “We need that too.”

They were quiet for a moment and she tried not to think back to everything they’d left behind. They were days she hoped would last forever, but days she treated as precious gifts because they wouldn’t. They couldn’t. She may have lost part of herself there, but those children had lost so much more.

“The campaign,” she said. “What do you think about Felix Gaeta?”

“In general, or in relation to the issue at hand?”

She set down her mug, smiling halfheartedly. “Well, maybe a little of both at the moment.”

“Gaeta’s a good kid,” Bill said. “He’d participate if I told him to.”

“Of course he’d follow an order. But is he fit for the job? Would he represent the Fleet well?”

“I don’t know a lot about his personal life. He keeps it to himself for the most part. I know he’s in a relationship, but he keeps it on the down low.”

“Oh really,” Laura said, her eyebrows lifting. “Tell me more.”

Bill chuckled and shifted in his chair, averting his eyes. “It was told to me in confidence.”

“I bet Dee is a pretty good source.”

“Classified information.” Typical Adama, unable to budge on even the most trivial of issues. He looked at her with no challenge or question.

Laura smiled, leaning over slightly. “Since when do we keep secrets from each other, Bill?”

She realized the impact of her words the moment they left her. His deep, slow breath confirmed it. She’d slipped. Again. Laura pulled back and looked down at the worn leather arm of her chair, biting her lower lip in the silence that lengthened the seconds between them. When she looked back up, her expression was softened and she closed her eyes.

“Would Gaeta be good for the job.” She punctuated each word deliberately so her tone wouldn’t waver.

“He’s dating Hoshi,” Bill said, his voice more gruff than she expected. “And it couldn’t hurt to ask. But I’m not going to order them to participate in your campaign.”

“Good,” she said, nodding, eyes still closed. “Then I’ll order them to do it. Thank you, Admiral.”

She didn’t open them again until she heard him leave.

***

 _It was early dawn when the last argument happened. Felix opened his eyes to the gray light of morning filtering through the slatted blinds of his bedroom window. He was on spring break from school, yet he couldn’t get himself back to sleep. He always had a sense when something was about to go wrong—his mother called it “that Felix feeling” when she teased him about it. He heard the wind in the trees outside and focused on it as he closed his eyes again, the sensation of inexplicable unrest building inside of him._

 _He could tell someone was standing outside his door; he pulled his comforter over his head and quietly burrowed deeper. He didn’t want to indicate to anyone that he was awake._

 _There were footsteps, and then the shouting began. Felix didn’t like to listen to what was being said. He liked to form his own opinions of each of his parents and not let their words taint his own flawless archetypes. So he always tried to shut it out, usually by singing a familiar song softly in his bed, under that comforter, until it felt as if it were suffocating him, but it drowned out the sounds and the slams, and eventually, the pleas._

 _The house fell silent. His breathing was short and it was stifling hot in the cocoon he’d built around himself. He was safe there and longed never to leave._

***

Louis closed the hatch to the crew quarters, turning to see Felix torridly stripping off his uniform. Normally it’d turn him on, but he was sure that there was no amorous intent behind Felix’s hurried undressing.

“That was a set up,” Felix said, yanking off his boots. “Pure and simple.”

“Take it easy,” Louis said, shedding his own coat. “Seriously, calm down.”

Felix made a noise that sounded like an aggravated growl and sat heavily down on his rack, exhaling in a most offended manner. “You and Roslin can go frak yourselves.”

Louis unzipped his trousers and let them drop, toeing out of his boots and kicking the tangle of fabric off his socked feet. He walked over and let their bare knees graze each other. “Well, she is hot.”

Felix looked up at him, his expression a mixture of amusement and bitterness. “I’m not going to be the best company tonight.”

Louis gestured with his head, a nod of direction that Felix took as he lay down on the sheets. Louis slid in next to him and pulled the covers over the both of them. He pressed himself into Felix’s side, letting his hand rest above his lover’s heart.

“Why are you taking it so personally?” Louis slid a leg over Felix’s thigh, trying to get comfortable against the stiffness of the man’s body. “Maybe you should feel honored that they chose us for the campaign.”

The word _us_ felt foreign to him, but good, too.

“They don’t know me. Who are they to assume that I’m a perfect example of a father?”

There was something setting Felix off about the campaign assignment. Louis realized it was probably something deeper than he was able to fix with a physical embrace. It was the kind of helplessness that can eat away at someone if they let it.

“Nobody’s asking you to exemplify anything. Just hold a baby and smile and look happy. You could at least look happy.” Louis closed his eyes and ran his fingers across the worn cotton of Felix’s tank, tracing the tail of the tattooed tiger on his chest. “I _know_ you can look happy. I’ve seen it.”

“Yeah?”

Louis stroked the ink with a fingertip, back and forth. “A few times.”

This brought the smallest of smiles to the corners of Felix’s mouth before Louis saw him catch himself and hold steadfast to his anger. “I can’t believe she wants people to have children in… in _this_.”

Louis sighed. “That’s really unbelievable coming from you. You know exactly why she thinks this is important.”

Felix shrugged a shoulder, his hand limp against Louis’s groin. “Preserving the human race. I get it. I also find it terribly selfish. What kid wants to live on a ship his entire life just to exist? To be nothing but a part of a whole destined to die exactly where he is. Trapped in a boat, adrift at sea.”

“Felix.” Louis knew he had the ability to cling tenaciously to his problems, but he’d rarely seen him obsess so much over something seemingly so insignificant.

“Maybe humanity isn’t supposed to survive.” Felix stared up at the top of the bunk. “Not like this.”

Louis’s heart sank at the tone he used. “You can’t ever envision yourself having a child?”

“Frak no. I’d be a shitty father.”

Louis kissed his shoulder. “I disagree.”

“Well, thank you, but you also don’t know a lot about me. Only what you’ve seen.”

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

Felix rolled his eyes, obviously exasperated. “That I’d be a shitty father.”

“Come on.” Louis tried to pull him closer, but Felix turned his back to him.

“Don’t. Not right now.”

For some reason Louis couldn’t grasp, this photo shoot was going to be an ordeal. For the moment, he pressed himself into Felix’s back and felt the man’s breathing begin to even out.

“Don’t push me away,” Louis murmured.

“You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”

***

 _He got the letter with one hundred cubits two weeks after his eighteenth birthday. His father had included, wrapped around the money, a small note that professed his love and his excessive guilt for not contacting Felix sooner or more regularly. It was a lengthy correspondence by his father’s standards, fifteen words on stationery that looked like someone had dripped coffee on it long before the note was written._

 _Love, money, guilt—it was the typical song his father sang to him in the random correspondence he sent, Felix assumed, the few times a year he was reminded that he had a son._

 _His mother hadn’t been the same, ever, after his father left. Felix worked so hard—worked at school, worked at his job, worked to keep house as much as he could before falling into bed every night only to wake up and repeat the day over again. She watched television or disappeared for days at a time. He didn’t need her anyway. He’d stopped needing her long ago._

 _Felix had often wondered what it was like to have a father._

***

Louis awoke with an overwhelming nervousness going into the photo shoot for the campaign. He’d gone back to his own bunk the night before after realizing the futility of his attempt at quelling Felix’s dissatisfaction. He’d seen an unrecognizable side of the lieutenant then—a brooding, angry man. There was something darker lurking under the surface, a well of emotions that Roslin had somehow tapped into by deciding on them for the job.

He didn’t know everything about Felix, but he did know that he was slowly and undeniably falling for him, despite and maybe even in part because of these mysteries. There were some things that didn’t come up in casual conversations or in pillow talk after a frak. But he was also hesitant to ask questions. These things would eventually come up if given time. He had to be patient with Felix, and he would do it because he didn’t want to push him away by pushing him to talk.

***

It had taken a while for Felix to warm up to the photo shoot. Louis made light of things, keeping him in line and trying to cheer him up as much as he could. But there was a point during the shoot at which Felix’s mood seemed to change. Maybe it was one of Trevor’s smiles, getting peed on, or one of the many barbs they exchanged with each other or the crew that was enjoying that the President had forced them into being the spokesmen for gay, baby-toting Fleet citizens everywhere. But in Felix’s eyes, in his smile, and in the way he sat there holding that baby, Louis saw the spark of the tiniest possibility that there could be a life for them, together. Maybe even with a boy like Trevor. They had several friends who were women who might be willing to carry their child.

Everything clicked.

Louis was happy that Felix seemed happy.

***

 _“My father used to call me “tiger.” Frakkin’ stupid thing for me to be doing, I know it. Sentimental shit.”_

 _The tattoo artist looked up at him, his eyebrow arched, as he completed overlaying the stencil of the tiger tattoo on Felix’s chest. “You sure you’re not drunk?”_

 _“Sure as sunshine.” Felix’s eyes gleamed. “How many people come to you wanting to feel pain?”_

 _Tapping his needle into ink, the tattoo artist shook his head and leaned over Felix. “Pretty much everyone, one way or another.”_

***

Once in a while, the Admiral would invite him to dinner. It was always unexpected, but Felix always accepted. Adama would sometimes share his mealtimes with Dee or his son, but Felix knew he wasn’t nearly as close to the Admiral as they were. Nonetheless, when they were sitting at the Old Man’s table eating whatever Jaffee had brought up in his stupid little cart—boy, was Felix glad he wasn’t that guy—Adama was often silent and Felix wondered if he merely invited people to dine with him in order to have another warm body to share the room with.

This time was different. Felix was about to go on the _Demetrius_ mission with a crew led by the now-very-much-alive Kara Thrace, and he had so many questions and had gotten very few answers. Yet in the silence of their dinner, Felix couldn’t muster up the courage to ask him what the frak was going on. He’d always been trained to follow orders without question. Lately, he’d become more skeptical of accepting Adama’s orders in that way. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Adama… but he was having that feeling of unease again. His mother’s voice came back to him with her pithy use of phrase.

That Felix feeling always meant something.

He chewed slowly on a flat piece of tasteless, green-hued algae cracker, lost in thought, until Adama interrupted his reminiscence.

“Mr. Gaeta, I’m sure you understand that my sending you on the _Demetrius_ is not commentary on the job I think you do here, on my ship.” Adama shoved another spoonful of soup in his mouth before Felix even had a chance to respond. Felix’s brow furrowed as he picked up his drink and sipped it.

“Well, Admiral, I’ve got a lot of questions about why the hell we’re going on this mission, but I don’t question my abilities or your assessment of them.”

“I trust you,” Adama said. “I believe you’ll do the right thing. That you’ll be the level head on this mission and tell me the truth when you get back.”

“ _If_ we get back.”

“ _When_.”

It was a strange feeling, that of someone having faith in you. Felix wasn’t accustomed to it, though several people relied on him as both a friend and a confidant. He was an easy target—he liked to feel needed. It was a thirst within him that couldn’t be quenched. It was what made him work so hard and often what made him look like a fool when people took advantage of him. Repeatedly.

He wanted to trust Adama like the Old Man trusted him.

***

Laura clung to Bill’s arm as their feet echoed against the decking of _Galactica_ , the sound of their footsteps making a unique but perfect harmony together that made her feel at ease. She pulled him closer as they walked. She had no reservations now about anyone seeing them in public this way. There were excuses she made for herself—they needed to present a united front, they needed to support each other. Most importantly, the time they had together was at even more of a premium. They needed to seize every moment, out of both love and fear.

The memorial hallway had grown so much in the years they’d been on _Galactica_. It seemed like it stretched for miles, hundreds of smiling faces that always prickled the back of her neck when she walked past. They reached the end of the corridor and Bill paused at the newest pictures added—those of the crew killed in the mutiny.

Bill’s picture had nearly been there. Laura briefly pondered which picture she would have used.

He looked at the pictures and ran his fingers across the faces and the rough, torn paper edges. She watched his fingers pass by—his kids, his crew, his family. He was reciting every one of their names in his head. Then, his hand stopped in front of one picture and Laura gasped softly, a mere reflex.

Bill touched a picture from the in vitro fertilization promotional shots that they’d taken what seemed like years ago. Or rather, half a picture. Felix Gaeta, his face alight with a smile, had been torn from the rest of the photo and pinned upon the wall. Lieutenant Hoshi must have placed it there. It made her gut wrench to think about Louis and what he had lost.

She nearly lost as much. Her vision blurred.

“Are you going to—”

“No.” His fingers rested on the photo. “He paid his dues.”

She slid her hand down his arm and threaded their fingers together, squeezing firmly.

“We all did,” she said, tugging him on.  
  



End file.
